


Blue Is The Loneliest Color

by jokeywrites



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Colorblind Soulmate AU, Eventual Fluff, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I'm Bad At Tagging, IT GETS THERE THOUGH I PROMISE, Langst, M/M, My First Multichapter Fic, Oh also, One-Sided Attraction, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmates, i dont want to give anything away, oh yes there will be langst, pining lance, so i guess i'm done with tags sdfghjk, there was no reason for me to hurt pidge in this other than my own satisfaction, warnings may change eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-07 22:40:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10371348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokeywrites/pseuds/jokeywrites
Summary: soul mateˈsōl ˌmāt/nounnoun: soulmatea person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.THIS FIC IS ON AN INDEFINITE HIATUS





	1. Orange

**Author's Note:**

> WOW OKAY this is my first ever chaptered fic so i'm kinda just throwing all caution to the wind and going with it. i really hope you all enjoy.

The world was grey.

And Lance didn’t mean that in a deep, soul searching sort of way. It was just a fact he’d had to come to terms with.

So, the world world was grey and would be until he met his soulmate. Which sounded weird and complicated when you just throw it out there like that, but allow him to break it down really quick. Soulmates came in two types: platonic or not. Those lucky humans who had been born with a platonic soulmate need only to touch hands with the other person one time, or maybe brush past them on the subway and their world would be flooded with color.

Lance’s soulmate was unfortunately of the not category.

Not that he knew who it was, per se. More that he had an inkling, and that inkling wasn’t sitting well with him. There had been an instant, when he wasn’t in space with only four other humans(two of which already seeing colors), where he’d had the briefest flash of color. Back at the Garrison, his class had gathered outside for a late night Astronomy lesson. Lance had never been the front row type of guy, but he couldn’t resist slipping through the crowd as his eagerness to learn more about the stars he spent so much time longing to actually see and maybe someday visit bubbled to the surface. People were everywhere, hands and wrists brushing as he finds his way through the crowd and then — bam! Out of nowhere there was a flash of something he just knew had to be orange before it was gone again and he couldn’t help but to turn in frantic circles in search of whoever had caused something so beautiful come into his sights, his eyes almost welling with tears as the color left because this sudden revelation made his search for the stars that much harder.

So, yeah, Lance was of the not group. In order for him to find color, he’d have to do a little more than touch hands with a stranger in the crowd.

As always on days that Lance couldn’t get the image of orange out of his head, his feet carry him down the hall in the direction of the hangar in search of a familiar tuft of messy hair, and just like always, he finds it perched on a stool in front of a, presumably green, lion.

“What are you up to?” he hums, crossing to the other side of Pidge’s work space and plopping down in the empty space in front of her.

“Working. What do you want, Lance?”

Any other time he’d take offense at her tone, but he can see how her hands slowly begin to clear her work area of Altean tech that he could never hope to comprehend. One hand moves to one of the pockets of her shorts when she's done, pulling three or four different bottles of nail polish out and setting them on the table before grabbing his hand with a sigh. This is something they had begun doing ever since Keith and Hunk were assigned to more and more missions together and they were left to their own devices. Pidge liked to pretend like she hated it, and Lance liked to let her think he didn’t notice her stocking up on nail polish at the last trading moon they had stopped at.

“You know me all too well, Pidge,” He mutters as he offers his hand to her, feeling the familiar drag of the cool paint over his nail. Before he can stop himself, he’s blurting out the question that seems to always come up when he finds himself alone with Pidge, “Will you tell me your story, again?”

Pidge pauses a moment, roughly shoving the brush down into the polish for few moments longer than necessary before continuing to paint his nails. “You know I don’t remember when I first saw color.”

He won’t let the topic drop that easy. He almost never does. “Tell me the color you most associate with Matt.”

“Green.”

The reply is instant, like always, “Describe green to me. Is it like your lion?”

Lance settles himself a little more comfortably on the stool, his eyes falling lazily over Pidge as she tries to come up with a comparison he hasn’t heard yet. Pidge had been one of the lucky one’s. Her very own brother had been her soulmate. She had never known a world without color.

“No...— It’s, it’s closer to something described as forest green, ya know?”

He doesn’t, but he lets her continue,

“Like the color you think of after fresh rain, when the soil is damp and the leaves on the trees are dripping. It's the smell of wet Earth in April.”

Lance’s eyes slip closed, trying to conjure up a color in his all grey mind while he his body shivers at the continued stroke of the brush against his nails. He appreciates this time Pidge spends with him, easing his nerves about the very real possibility of him living in greyness forever.

And if talking about Matt helps her in someway, Lance considers it a day well spent.

“You know, if you really want to see color, you could just tell him,”

The words are kind of like a slap, but Lance says nothing. Pidge would never understand the fear that Lance associated with coming out of the grey. Grey was safe. Grey was normal. No one could hurt him inside the grey.

Instead of sharing his thoughts, Lance gives a noncommittal hum before peaking at his bright grey nails, mouth falling open in the same questions as always, “What color are they today?”

Without looking up, Pidge purses her lips to blow on the still damp nails, her words coming out more amused than anything, “Red.”

* * *

 

The thing about not seeing color is you start to associate the names of them with emotions.

Blue was calm. Lonely, but calm. It was a well crafted fake smile that hid doubts and fears with a single upward turn of one of the corners. It was the illusion of confidence and self assurance. Blue was Lance.

Red, on the other hand, left a nasty taste in his mouth. Pidge had once described red as being the color you see at the tipping point of rage. The color of blood. The color of unadulterated anger.

Lance couldn't help but disagree. Red was like untamed jealousy, the hot flames of it engulfing him and burning him from the inside out. Often, he saw red as the color of Shiro giving Keith another pat on the back, or the color of the scores that would flash across the monitors at the Garrison to tell him that he’d fallen _just_ behind Keith in a flight simulation for the third time that week. He saw it when he’d invited Keith to sit with him, Hunk and Pidge at lunch and consequently got rejected. Red was the color Lance thought of as he watched Keith get better, and farther out of his reach.

Sometimes he saw it when he thought of Keith not remembering his name when they’d saved Shiro.

Which, of course, got him onto the subject of where to draw the line between rage and jealousy.

“Lance!”

His head jerks up, eyes snapping away from his stubbornly grey nails to stare into Allura’s even more stubbornly grey eyes. “Uh, yeah?”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

He squirms under her stare, eyes downcast again, “No, princess.”

Lance watches as Allura rolls her shoulders back into position, her back straightening to regain her commanding look. Allura was grey. Not the grey that Lance normally saw, either. It was a grey with a hint of blue. Calm, but in charge. Confident without any of the illusion. 

With a sigh, Allura lifts her eyes to the group again and begins to speak, her hands full of the mind melding devices from their first week inside the castle, “The Paladins of old grew together. They had thousands of hours of training and so many mind melding sessions that they were of one mind. This made bonding with their lions to the level that Shiro has reached already, easy. Which will make forming Voltron even easier.”

Lance knows what she’s getting at and doesn’t like the sound of it. He’s not in the head space to do some alien mind melding shit, today.

But, despite Lance’s inner monologue of ‘no, no, god no,’ Allura presses on, handing each of them a set of headgear, “So, from here on out, if you aren’t training or working on something important, you’ll be here. Time isn’t a luxury we have like the original paladins, Zarkon’s forces continue to grow. We need to be as ready as we can be.”

Reluctantly, Lance slides down beside Hunk, places the device over his head and clears his thoughts. He honestly doesn’t see the point of this exercise; he and blue were as thick as thieves and he doubts having the other’s pick around in his head will do them any good. Nonetheless, he closes his eyes and reaches out, latching onto the first memory that he comes across.

He’s smiling down at a taller version of Pidge, her glasses perched low on her nose as she gushes about their upcoming mission to Kerberos. Despite the fact Lance knows they don’t have a mission on Kerberos, he humors her, listening intently as his face pulls into a smile. Her voice comes out lower than Lance is accustomed to and he can’t help brush his hand against her cheek, staring in wonder at how large and pale his hands seem.

Ah, so he’s in Shiro’s mind. This person he sees in front of him isn’t Pidge, it’s her older brother Matt.

At the revelation, Lance tries to pull back and settle somewhere else, knowing this memory will be filled with pain from Shiro and Pidge any moment.

See, sometimes soulmates were one sided.

Its rare and messy, but sometimes two people claimed the same person. Shiro had fallen into the not category for Matt and once the ball got rolling, it was hard for either of them to stop.

Shiro had met Matt before Pidge was born. They’d figured out the nature of their relationship pretty quickly and claimed their colors through an awkward peck of the lips in the hallway of their old middle school. Despite the nature of their claims on Matt being completely different, it would be crazy for Pidge not to hurt at the thought of Matt connecting with someone on a potentially deeper level then her. What if Shiro replaced her? She’s his little sister and always would be, but what if this thing with Shiro took her place as Matt’s right hand man? What if Matt decided he didn't want her as his best friend anymore? What if—

Lance is jolted from the thoughts with such force he feels like he’s been thrown across the room. Slowly, his eyes lift to find and settle on Pidge. Her breathing comes in little huffs, hands braced on her knees as sweat drips down her nose. One word tumbles from her lips, malice dripping between every letter,

“Enough.”

Without warning, Pidge invades his mind and his memories, hopes, dreams and fears are on display for everyone to see.

Faintly, he can hear Hunk try and call Pidge off before he’s sucked into the void just like everyone else.

The first thing to slip past Lance’s wall is a memory of his mother, her arms wrapped around him the day he left for the Garrison,

“Be careful, mijo.”

“I’m going to bring a star back for you, momma.”

Another memory: the first time Lance had failed a flight simulation and was being scolded by Iverson,

“You don’t belong in this program. You’re a disgrace to this entire establishment,”

Pidge starts to pull back, Lance can feel her remorse at bringing forth such a touchy subject, but for some reason the memories keep coming and Lance isn’t sure how to stop them.

There’s fleeting image of Lance curled into Hunk’s side back in their shared room, tears staining the other’s shirt as he begs for some assurance that he is as good as Keith.

“Iverson’s an ass, Lance. You know that.”

More and more come and Lance digs his nails into his palms in order to make it stop, bile begins to rise in the back of his throat and he can faintly hear his name being called. It’s almost enough to pull him out of the rabbit hole, and then—

He’s rushing through the crowd at the Garrison again, his hands brushing against everyone he passes until there’s a brilliant flash of orange and he’s throwing the mind melding device off his head, his breaths coming out in huffs just as Pidge’s had before him.

“Lance, I’m so—” Pidge begins, her words drowning in the shout coming from Keith,

“That was you? The color back at the Garrison… Was you?”

There's several beats of silence where all Lance can do is breathe slowly, trying to regain what little composure he had, but Keith's stare is unrelenting. They keep asking a question that Lance doesn’t have the time or energy to answer. How do you casually tell a teammate that you liked the sound of his voice in the morning when it was still raspy from sleep? Or that you had begun to notice that he liked to train in the afternoon, after lunch but before dinner, so he could always be back in time to taste Hunk's latest creation? How was Lance expected to _explain_ that despite his very real feelings for Keith, he had chosen to stay in the bleak grey of everyday life? Keith hadn't even bothered with learning his name until a couple of months ago. He didn't owe anything to Keith.

Without thinking, he stands and bolts from the room, not caring where his legs carry him. He hears Hunk call his name, and Pidge’s chorus of apologies as they follow him down the hall, but he doesn’t care.

Orange is the color of fear, he decides.

Fear of the unknown.


	2. Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER OF THE SOULMATE AU NO ONE ASKED FOR?  
> i wasn't going to update this so quickly but this chapter has really been bugging me for a couple of days so enjoy!

Ever since the shitstorm that was yesterday’s attempt at team bonding, Lance had blatantly   refused to even attempt another mind melding session. It had taken several minutes of angry stares, and one vaguely threatening order for Coran to eject Lance into space before Allura finally relented and gave them the next few days to relax and enjoy each other’s company.

 

And that’s what Lance was doing. Enjoying the company of others.

 

He sat with his legs crossed on the couch, watching Hunk and Pidge play what could only be described as space checkers. Hunk seemed to be winning. For now, at least. Pidge simply seemed bored. Her back slumped against the edge of the couch and her head came to rest the slightest bit against Lance’s calves. He knew she was still feeling bad about yesterday, so he finally relents and lets his fingers comb gently through her grey tinted hair.

 

See, in some ways, Lance had come to appreciate the grey. It left an air of mystery around things he saw in his everyday life. Pidge’s hair, for example, was obviously _not_ grey, but because that’s all Lance could see, it was up to him determine what her actual hair looked like.

 

He secretly has her pegged as a blonde.

 

Not that he knows what blonde hair looks like. It just _felt_ right.

 

There were days when the grey was soft, and calming. It surrounded him like his favorite blanket, holding him together in all the right places when he needed it most. The grey was all he’d ever known.

 

Today was not one of those days.

 

On days like today the grey was all encompassing. It was scary. It was unwelcoming. Today it was the color used to describe a tropical storm, it’s heavy clouds so full of rain they were ready to burst. Icy winds blew from nowhere inside this bleaker version of his everyday life, bringing crashing waves that threatened to pull him under with each slam against his chest. On days like today, Lance would let the waves crash around him as long as they’d like. He’d sit and wait for the storm to pass, turning his face to the sky when the first few rays of grey sunlight burst through the grey clouds of the all grey sky.

 

At least, that’s what he used to do. Here on the ship, it was harder for him to hide out until the waves died down. Until he’d composed himself. Even now, his thoughts are being interrupted by Pidge and Hunk as they squabble over the legality of a double jump in this particular version of checkers.

 

“It’s _space_ checkers, Pidge. You don’t know the rules.”

 

“Who are you to decide whether or not double jumps apply in space? Are you suddenly an intergalactic games master?”

 

“Lance, are you hearing this?” Hunk’s eyes finally lift from the board, placing too much trust on Pidge’s wandering hands, to rest on Lance with a look that would put a kicked puppy to shame.

 

Lance laughs quietly, letting his sour mood lift for now.  Carefully, he leans over Pidge’s shoulder to inspect the damage that’s been done, only to laugh louder once it comes into view, “Oh, I see. You’re mad because she’s winning now.”

 

Hunk’s protest are lost in the sound of Pidge and Lance’s laughter, and it’s then that Lance can kind of see the grey beams of light starting to filter through his dark grey storm clouds.

 

They fall into a silence so comfortable, Lance almost has himself convinced that they’re the only three on the ship. Until the door behind them swishes open and the other four inhabitants enter the room, that is. Shiro and Keith enter, already dressed in their paladin armour and talking in hushed tones. Which, of course, peaks Lance’s interest.

 

Also, the fact that he hasn’t seen Keith since the revelation of their soulmate status had him slightly more concerned than he’d like to admit.

 

Shiro pauses, smiles at the room, and then speaks, “Good, you’re all here. That makes things easier.”

 

He steps back, gesturing for Princess Allura to speak.

 

As the princess comes forward, Lance is once again reminded of the grey blue color that his mind has created for her and it’s got his full attention,

 

“We’ve come across a distress signal from a nearby planet,” there’s a pause where Allura worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and she turns towards Shiro for support before continuing, “Unfortunately, our initial scan of the planet shows no signs of life. Only traces left behind by Galra tech.”

 

The room is so quiet that a pin dropping would cause them all to jump, and it’s several minutes before someone manages to speak up,

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Everyone’s eyes shift from Hunk to Allura and back again, before it finally clicks and Lance can’t help himself,

 

“It means we’re too late.”

 

From the look on Allura’s face, Lance knows he’s right and so do the others. More silence follows, and it’s only when Shiro finally decides they must continue that it breaks,

 

“The point is, there’s lots of Galra tech down there. Unguarded. It could help us catch up with what’s been happening with this war for the last 10,000 years,” Shiro turns, giving instructions without even pausing to make sure they’re all on the same page, “Hunk and Pidge, I want you two to stay here and guide us through what we’re going to need to do. I want this information decoded as fast you guys can get it.”

 

Lance pulls himself up from the couch as Hunk starts to pack up their game, determined to follow the two of them out of the room without making eye contact with Keith. As fate would have it, Keith seems to be doing the same thing, falling in step beside Lance with his face turned stubbornly in the other direction. Just as they reach the door leading into the hallway, and Lance begins to finally think he’s free to brood on his own, Shiro speaks again and makes the both of them stop in their tracks,

 

“And Lance? I want you to come with me this time.”

 

Lance is stuck in the grey, but for a second, he believes he can see Keith’s entire face go as red as his lion is said to be.

* * *

  


They’re trudging through dense forest, their lions tucked a safe distance away from the Galra base in the event the scans were wrong, and Lance is kind of angry that Pidge isn’t here to tell him the colors of the plants that tickle his waist as he walks by. He’d love to compare them to what she described Earth’s foliage as.

 

Of course, he could ask Shiro, but Shiro is uncharted territory for him. Even now, as Lance watches him slash through large portions of wildlife with his Galra enhanced arm, Shiro still seems like a fantasy. This is the guy that had inspired Lance to learn how to fly; to want to explore the colorless stars.

 

Not to mention, Matt may be a more sensitive subject to Shiro than it is to Pidge seeing as their relationship is a bit more, ah, _serious_.

 

It physically hurts Lance, but he manages to keep quiet on their walk to the base, the only sounds between them coming from their boots squelching against the damp forest floor. They don’t have to do much when they reach the facility, the doors had been blasted open prior to their visit and the hall is so overgrown with invading forestry that they’re pretty sure they won’t run into anyone else. The main control room is in worse shape than they could have thought, roots enclose around the spot that would scan Shiro’s hand and allow them access to the computer. Sighing, Lance lifts a hand to his helmet and taps a button on the side to let Hunk and Pidge see what he does,

 

“You seeing this, guys?”

 

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to go in manually. Hunk says to try the panel on your far left.”

 

Lance crouches, and hooks his fingers fingers behind the edges of the slightly bent panel, prying it from the machine with a satisfying pop,

 

“Alright, Pidge, what next?”

 

“Grab the yellow wire.”

 

 _Sigh_. “Uh Pidge?”

 

“Right, sorry. Shiro, the yellow wire?”

 

Shiro comes to Lance’s side and grabs the fourth wire to their right, an easy enough description to give if you ask him, and connects it to a port on his suit,

 

“Good job, guys. Sit tight while this downloads.”

 

And with that, the communicator clicks off and silence follows. Lance desperately wishes he knew how to talk to Shiro, but what is there to talk about? _Hey, I know I just met you a couple of months ago but I know everything about you._

 

Yeah, not gonna happen.

 

Right when Lance is about to break the ice by asking Shiro about his record breaking time on the simulator back at the Garrison, he’s saved by Shiro’s voice breaking through the uncomfortable silence around them,

 

“You know, I ran from Matt at first too.”

 

Oh. So that’s why he had been invited along today.

 

Lance shifts uncomfortably, his eyes falling to the floor under Shiro’s understanding gaze. As much as he hates to be that guy, Lance is pretty sure Shiro will never understand his feelings towards this entire situation.

 

“It takes some getting used to, Lance, it does, but Keith is a really great guy. If you just gave him a chance I think you’d see that.”

 

It’s a struggle, but Lance manages to lift his head to meet Shiro’s eyes, half expecting to see humor in them. This has to be a joke. Shiro can't _honestly_ believe that Lance was doing this out of spite from stupid rivalry he’d made between the two of them.

 

“Keith deserves to see color, Lance.”

 

Before Lance gets the chance to respond, there's a crackle in both of their ears and the all clear is given for them to leave. Shiro removes the wire from his suit, gives Lance a quick pat on the shoulder, and leads them back out the way they came.

 

Red. Lance is finally seeing red.

* * *

 

The thing about seeing red is that it’s even more encompassing than the rolling grey storm clouds. It itches just beneath the surface of his skin and begs to be let out. He feels it everywhere: his face, his chest, his hands. Everything is hot, too hot for him to breathe correctly, making his hands slick with sweat where they grip the controls of the blue lion. He can feel her, a small presence in the back of his mind trying to calm him, but the harder she tries the hotter the flames lap against his ribcage. By the time they reach the castle, Lance is so engulfed in the heat of anger, that he doesn’t register that everyone is waiting in the hangar for their return; probably to report on their findings.

 

Lance only has eyes for one of them.

 

Three voices hit his ears at once when he steps out of his lion, and the pounding in his head increases to the point of no return. He sidesteps Hunk, his eye’s meeting Keith’s for the first time in what seems like weeks. Without warning, without him telling them to, his hands reach out and grip Keith’s shoulders. It starts small, Lance’s arms shoving Keith back and then pulling him forward again. Keith looks absolutely terrified and he should. Lance has had a taste of rage, and isn’t sure how to stop it.

 

The shaking continues, all eyes on them, and then finally, Lance finds his words, “The next time you have something to say to me, swallow your _damn_ pride and tell me yourself.”

Keith, who seems to have put two and two together, wrestles himself out of Lance’s grip and shoves him back, trying to put a little distance between them. At least one of them seems calm, “You wouldn’t have listened. You’ve been avoiding me.”

 

Lance laughs a little, the sound coming out so quietly and filled with anger that he’s surprised it even came from him. With shaking hands, he lifts his paladin helmet off his head, letting the cool air wash over him before he does something he might regret. Something he might not mean.

 

“You’re right, Keith. You do deserve color, but I deserve to be loved in return. Guess we both wound up disappointed.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Lance lets the helmet drop to the floor in front of Keith and leaves the room, Hunk hot on his heels.

* * *

 

Lance’s favorite place in the entire castle was the main control room. Here, he could see the stars without anything obstructing his view and man, did Lance love the stars. The stars never judged Lance. They never bugged him about his feelings or how he was doing. They were never changing and Lance loved that about them.

 

So, late at night, Lance liked to sneak in here; a blanket thrown over his shoulders as he crouched behind Coran’s control panel to stare up at the shining grey stars in the dark grey sky.

 

Tonight, however, is different. He’s only halfway through his staring match with the stars when the sound of footsteps invades their private time. His head turns, and with a jolt, he realises Keith has entered the room. They stare at each other for moment, Keith looking ready to bolt at any moment, before Lance relents and scoots over the slightest bit.

 

“It’s okay, Mullet. I’m done being angry.”

 

Keith hesitates, but finally takes the spot beside Lance. They sit like this, Lance wrapped in his blanket and Keith with his knees hugged to his chest, for hours. The stars twinkle above them almost as if teasing them, and Lance wants to scold them. The silence stretches on, their breathing off by just a tick, and Lance starts to suspect Keith might have fallen asleep. Slowly, nervously, Lance lifts his head and turns it towards Keith. To his surprise, Keith is already looking back.

 

“Did you know?”

 

Lance sputters a moment, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, “Know what?”

 

“That we were soulmates. Did you know? Back at the Garrison, I mean.”

 

“I had hoped,” nervous laughter falls from between his open lips, his eyes falling to where Keith’s rest on the floor, supporting him. Gingerly, Lance drapes his hand over Keith’s and there’s an explosion of color. Keith’s purple eyes are wide, and moving, taking in all of Lance. Lance only has eyes for the deep color of Keith’s irises. “Even before any of this,” He gestures at the colors around the room with his free hand, “I wanted you. I wanted you when we were still in the grey. You just never had time for a cargo pilot.”

 

Keith kind of looks like he’s going to be sick so Lance slowly retracts his hand, using it to push him to his feet. There’s so much left unsaid. So much that _needs_ to be said. Lance hates that this is the way he’s going to have Keith. Not of Keith’s own free will, but because there’s something for him to gain at the end, but hey, any time with Keith is better than no time with him. Lance turns to take his leave, the blanket swishing across the floor when there’s suddenly something pulling him back. A fingerless black glove is entangled in his blanket.

 

“Lance, I—”

 

Lance hushes him, his hand cupping his cheek gently as his eyes begin to water. The purple is back, and this time it stings because Lance almost convinces himself he sees hurt in it’s deep hue, “Goodnight, Keith.”

  
And just like that, the color is gone and so is the mystery of the grey.

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on tumblr](http://altaenklance.tumblr.com/)


End file.
